The Kiss
by eszabo1
Summary: Sherlock has been acting silent, and John doesn't know what's wrong. But when they get back to the flat, he is taken completely by surprise. Johnlock, twoshot, MxM. Read and Review please! :D


Hello there! Just a warning- there is some mild M/M here, so if you're averse to that, then don't read.

If you aren't, then go right ahead! This is completely fluff and is just a fun oneshot. There will be an epilogue-like second chapter soon!

The Kiss

It was after a case that it happened. One rainy Saturday morning that John would never forget. It was October 28th and nothing unusual was happening; just a first degree murderer on the loose, upturning everything in his path to avoid being found. He had a mildly nasty machine gun, but in the end Sherlock solved the case- like he always did.

John hadn't noticed anything different, except that when Sherlock was doing his deduction he kept his eyes locked on John's the whole time. A small smile graced his lips, and a shiver went down John's spine. Why was he looking at John? Was the deduction for his amusement?

They get back to the flat after John insisted on getting a celebratory drink at the bar. Sherlock had been quiet the whole taxi ride, but then again John noticed that Sherlock's moods changed with the weather; cold and rainy, and Sherlock was too.

The flat was silent but for the low patter of rain on the drawn windows. Mrs. Hudson had left them a tray of tea, and as John pulled on a sweater over his button-down shirt and warmed his hands on the mug, Sherlock brooded on the couch. Finally, after avoiding Sherlock's gaze, John sighed.

"What is with you? You've been silent all day, and usually I can't get you to stop yammering about some scientific experiment." Sherlock didn't even look away from the ceiling, but when John said, "_Sherlock_," he glanced around as if saying, "Who, me?"

"It's like you're..." John trailed off. Sherlock twisted his long, pale fingers together and then drummed them impatiently on his leg. John looked to the ground, not wanting to be distracted by it. "Planning something."

Sherlock suddenly jumped up. "Number one-" John internally heaved a sign of relief. When Sherlock was happy he always made lists. "When I'm silent, it usually means that I am bored, scared, or nervous." John furrowed his brow and studied Sherlock, who was now pacing in agitation. His best friend never admitted emotion.

"And which one are you now?" John asked. It was asked innocently, but by the way Sherlock's eyes slid slowly up to his face, he felt like he had done something wrong. But he was startled as Sherlock barked his answer.

"Nervous."

John swallowed. "Why is that?"

As if ignoring him, Sherlock stopped pacing and held up two fingers. "That's number two." Then Sherlock stepped closer to John so that his nose almost touched Sherlock's chin. Sherlock's breath smelled faintly of wine and peppermint, danger and temptation. A finger came up and brushed John's cheek, and John froze like a block of ice.

Slowly, carefully, Sherlock lifted his hands to hold John's head in his palms, and lowered his lips to his friend's.

John's head spun and his heart hammered in panicked throbs. _What is he doing?_ slipped through his mind, but the pure pleasure and softness was enough to make him stop thinking. John stood on his tiptoes and tangled his fingers in Sherlock's messy curls, and time stopped.

Then Sherlock broke away, spinning, his trench coat whirling behind him like a shadow. He began tearing his hands through his hair, and color came into his cheeks. His eyes darted from John standing there, dumbstruck, to the floor.

"Sherlock," John said after a couple tries; his voice didn't seem to work. "Stop."

"I don't know what you think of me now. You hate me. Yes, that's it. You hate me and you want me to die." Sherlock had stopped, and John saw pure fear in his pale, usually calculating eyes. The fear of a little boy who had been stepped on too many times.

John sighed and stepped forward, wrapping his arms tightly around Sherlock's chest. "I don't hate you, you idiot," John said, laughing into his coat. "Of course not. I fact, I must be the happiest man alive right now."

"But-" Sherlock stuttered. "But, we had never discussed anything romantic before in our frien- relationship. And from the research I've done, most people don't feel that a kiss is welcome if there are no signs of-"

"It's all right," John said soothingly, cutting him off. "I don't mind."

"John. You know I've always been rubbish at speaking my feelings. So I thought that a physical act would tell more, and I might not fail so miserably at it." Sherlock brought his hands to John's shoulders. "You-you're really happy?"

John merely rolled his eyes and kissed him again. "Of course I am, Mr. Thicklock. I've been in love with you for months, and holding it back is a very exquisite form of torture."

"Well then," Sherlock said with a laugh, "I'm glad we're both freed from it."

_Please review if you have any opinion whatsoever!_

_-Eszabo1_


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